Friday, April 18, 2014

cool

I don't know if the Oxford Dictionary or Encyclopedia Britannica keeps a category for the "chic-est" words used in the world for the day. If they do, I think "cool" should be right up there. 

Say, 

You wear a new suit to a party, and people compliment you: "Cool outfit!"

You talk arrangement or business with a friend or partner, and to consummate the deal, you say "Are you cool with it?"

You give a fancy new toy to your kid, his/her eyes round up, mouth opens wide, and cheers out "Cool!", and you are the coolest dad in the world at that moment!

Just like a group of children, we expect our leaders to be cool, level headed, like they knew what they were doing all the time, so we feel secure. Witness General Haig's quivering "I am in control" statement right after President Reagan's failed assassination, or compare Richard Nixon's nervous appearance vs John Kennedy's calm demeanor during the presidential debate, and their political outcomes, you'll understand that the appearance of uncool can be detrimental to a politician's public life, just like some say the appearance of stupidity, more than stupidity itself, can hamper one's career advancement in the corporate world.

At the risk of seeming politically uncool, I'll say in general men are more cool than women. How else to explain that we always look for "the coolest man in Hollywood," (George Clooney, for that matter, for now, perhaps) but no woman in that category. (Instead, we have the "hottest woman" category we like to focus on). The flip side of this is jerks are always men, none woman.

One easy way to achieve coolness is to put oneself in a neutral position, like a TV anchorman/woman, for example, posing questions to their interviewees, jarring or intriguing as they might be, they are all asked on the audience's behalf, so he/she can stay above the fray and watch--as we audience do--their interviewees squirm and turn in their answering.

But once in a while, an interviewee might fire back an edgy jab towards the interviewer themselves, unexpectedly, then you might see that anchorman/woman get visibly disturbed, become defensive, and lose that professional calm air they've been wearing. It's not cool any more when things get personal, is it?

Probably because coolness is such looked-upon quality in our society, many try to fake it, or "play cool", even when they don't have it. Or they at least try to play it passively, to hide their uncoolness by following that "Never let them see you sweat" motto. Coolness over-or-mis-played can become downright cold-heartedness, or deranged mental cases like those zombie-like killers we see in many of Hollywood's violent movies. 

Like meekness that comes from reined-in strength, I think true coolness comes from a very warm heart, that can still cry and empathize, but with great wisdom and wit, humor and humility, that combined so enchants us we want to be surrounded by it, or by that person rather, all day long.

There was a guy born a couple thousand years ago, who didn't go with the "in" crowd, cried for the death of his friend, took all things personally, and sweated profusely in his last petition to his father God for life. Yet his magic brings life and hope to all people ever since. That's a very cool guy in my book.

Happy Easter!

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

mayday in march

Though we have been living away from Taiwan for over 30+ years, my jolly girly wife has never lost her adoration of anything Taiwanese or missed following every move of every entertainment celebrity she can keep track of there. So I was not totally surprised when she so excitedly announced to me a couple months ago "the great 'Mayday' (五月天) rock band from Taiwan is coming to LA for a live performance" and wanted me to buy tickets online for her, her nephew and his girl friend, and the mandatory companion driver husband myself, altogether 4 tickets for a whopping sum of $600 or so.

Came last Saturday, the day of the concert, the plan was to first go to a restaurant in Beverly Hills for an early dinner with an auntie of hers and her son, who had also bought tickets for the concert once they learned about it from us, then head for the concert at Sports Arena, the erstwhile Clippers basketball court near USC.

The dinner reservation was made for 5 PM, we left our house a little over 3:30, thinking that should be plenty time ahead. But a couple of slow-and-go's and the usual snarl on Fwy-405 when nearing West LA made it past 5 already when we finally got off the freeway onto the busy surface streets. Adding the parking look-around and last-block pedestrian walk, we ended up about 15 minutes behind when we entered the restaurant.

This is an upscale Vietnamese/fusion style restaurant, famous for its "tiger prawn garlic noodle" and crab meat, so we ordered some and more. It's all good and delicious, but pricey as well--I honestly think we can get same quality food for half the price at somewhere else in LA or Orange County, but this is Beverly Hills, as you know. 

My wife's auntie Winnie's son, Sean, picked up the tab for his mother, who was the one suggested the place and said she'd be the hostess for it in the first place. I have known Winnie and Sean and his brother and sister since I came to the States over 30 years ago, when they just started their new lives in America as well. From swap-meet booths to doughnut shops to used car sales, and now owners of one of the largest AT&T wireless chain stores in the US, plus a couple of bakery stores Winnie herself owns, theirs is a rags-to-riches, another great American-dream-coming-true story that I undoubtedly feel proud of and happy for.

The drive from the restaurant to the Sports Arena again reminded me of the treachery of LA traffic that I almost forgot after years of cushy driving in Orange County. Again, when we finally pulled into the vast, flat, but well packed parking lot of the Arena, it's 15 minutes past the scheduled concert start time already.

Fortunately, the concert hadn't started yet and it took us only a few minutes to find our seats, ones right facing the stage, even though it's a distance away and on the upper level. This is a big arena that can seat up to 16,000 people, and one thing that much surprised me was the overwhelming majority of the near capacity crowd I saw here were young mainland Chinese in their early 20's, many of them recent immigrants/students from China, I supposed.

The concert blasted out with a couple of big smoky cannon bolts and all the kids went wild, cheering, yelling, jumping, flash light waving, one song after another, just like a typical rock concert crowd would do. My wife's nephew got an LED flash light ($15 per stick) for us and she started waving and jumping like the young kids were, while I sat and enjoyed the scene and the music in most gentlemanly way. 

Other than hearing my wife mentioning their name a couple times before, I really had no idea who this "Mayday" group are or what their songs sound like until tonight. And they weren't too bad, frankly. The rhythms were soothing and melodramatic, at times rapt and at times subdued, captivating and "resuscitating"--meaning worthy of savoring over and over again; the lyrics were earthy and poignant, ebullient and titillating, circling around love, friendship, dreams of their lives, etc.

Granted, their stage props (and fireworks) were not as grand, and their vocal and instrumental skills not as over-the-top as a couple of big old vintage Western rock bands such as Pink Floyd and Fleetwood Mac that I've been to, and I sure wish I were familiar with their songs so I could sing along with them, like I did with those groups whose music I grew up with.

But herein lies the point, this is a group of their generation, singing songs for their generation, a generation of young Chinese all over Asia, from Taiwan to mainland China, Singapore to Tokyo, whatever dialect they speak, society or political system they live in, they seem to communicate perfectly well in this music, that touches their hearts, tells their dreams, and vents their frustration in trying to break away from whatever chains they feel themselves are under.

Somehow the song "Give Peace a Chance" from the hippie generation keeps reverberating in my mind, seems to say "let's give these young people a chance, to make a better world they know how themselves..."

It took us about half an hour just to get out of the log-jammed parking lot after the end of the show, and then just as we were finally cruising along in light late night traffic on the 405, Caltran completely shut down a major freeway transition and forced us all down the freeway to go through a bewildering detour route for another extra half hour. It was well past midnight when we finally got home.

I think I'd done a masterful good job chauffeuring my wife and had a great time myself for the night!

* Here's a video clip for one song I recorded at the Mayday concert: